


A Hurricane Not a House Fire

by lol-phan-af (lol_phan_af)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lol_phan_af/pseuds/lol-phan-af
Summary: John and Alex didn't have a good relationship.They met when they were young, early twenties, when everything John did was an act of revolt. Against his father, against himself, against everything that he spent years trying to convince himself was "sinful", until the line between what was wrong and what was unhealthy blended into the same thing.





	A Hurricane Not a House Fire

John and Alex didn't have a good relationship.   
  
They met when they were young, early twenties, when everything John did was an act of revolt. Against his father, against himself, against everything that he spent years trying to convince himself was "sinful", until the line between what was  _ wrong _ and what was  _ unhealthy _ blended into the same thing.   
  
He drank too much, got into fights with people who could kill him, smoked like it was the only thing he could do to keep breathing. He was the poster child for bad habits and he enjoyed the image he portrayed. He got tattoos to match it, pierced his ears by himself in his dorm room and thought he was  _ cool _ when he accidentally stabbed himself with the needle. He was a mess, and he had no problem with letting everyone know.    
  
Alexander wasn't like John. He worked too much to be that carefree, was always interested in tattoos but didn't want to sit too long to get them done, didn't care that smoking killed you just that it was too time consuming. He lived like a man who would die the next day no matter what he did, and he seemed to come to terms with it. Alex did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it, and it was noble sometimes, but Alexander was always selfish and nothing John ever did changed that.    
  
John couldn't remember how him and Alexander got together, he might've been drunk, he was always drunk. He remembered Alex's hands smoothing over his hips and his hair in John's hands and waking up next to him the next morning. Everything was a blur and he wished it wasn't, wished he remembered the good parts of them instead of everything he hated, everything that made him hate the man he stayed with for years.    
  
"I love you," Alex whispered that morning, and John could remember that. He knew it was the first time Alex had said it to him, and he thought it was the last time he ever meant it.    
  
"Please, shut up. My head is pounding," John threw back, getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. Alex curled into his bed further, the sound of his heart shattering almost audible from there. He never said it back, not that day, maybe not ever.    
  
Alexander never really loved John, he just liked the idea of someone being there for him. He liked John most when he was unconscious or fucking him, hated him on almost every other occasion. He complained when John came home hazy and distant, as if that wasn't how he spent all his time, threw him out of John's own apartment and made him sleep in the hallway without care. He threw things at him, most notably a dish that cut open John's eyebrow and left a scar that would never heal.    
  
Alexander left a lot of scars that wouldn't heal.   
  
John liked to think that he wasn't this person, that everything Alex did was for no good reason, that John never did anything to deserve getting into the fights they had. He liked to imagine that in the memories he's forgotten, repressed, and pushed down, he was an okay boyfriend, that he tried when he could but it just didn't work out. John liked to think that Alex didn't love him because fate pushed two wrong puzzle pieces together and couldn't pull them apart, not because of anything John ever did.    
  
John stopped drinking when he was with Alexander, couldn't even look at a cigarette without feeling sick. It was the only good thing to come out of their relationship, the only thing John would ever thank him for.   
  
"You're a terrible person, did you know that?" Alex asked him. The night had been going fine so far, at least by their standards, and not one fight had occurred since John came home that evening, at the actual time he was supposed to for once. Why did Alex have to ruin everything?   
  
"What?" John whispered.   
  
"You're a  _ terrible  _ person. I don't know why I'm dating you."    
  
"Are you even dating me? We've never been on a real date." John knew he had flaws, he knew that he wasn't an angel, but he didn't need to hear Alex go on a tangent about it like he did so often.    
  
"Okay, then take me out on a date and stop wasting all your money on stupid shit like tattoos," he spit, and John wants to say no. He wanted to tell Alex to leave his apartment, to be able to scream at him without consequence. He wanted to break up with him. He wanted to kill him.    
  
"Okay," he whispered, tears dotting his eyes. Alex laughed, venomous, rolling away from John. He fell asleep moments later, leaving John to wonder what his life would be like if he never met him.   
  
He didn't like thinking about the date they went on, or any of the dates they went on, but this one popped up in his memory most often. Alex spilled his drink on him, an honest mistake, but then he started yelling about how clumsy  _ John  _ was, how if only he sat still for one second in his life then he wouldn't have made him do that. He called him rude names and spit out insults and then walked out, leaving John to be the one to chase him, to have to apologize.    
  
"Fine," Alex said, "I'll forgive you."   
  
"I don't know what I'd do without you in my life," and he meant it. If Alex was never in his life, he doesn't know whether he'd be better or dead. With Alex in his life, he'd be better off dead.    
  
"Of course you don't. Without me, there wouldn't be anyone left here to put up with you."   
  
John still heard that voice sometimes, when he did something Alex would've gotten mad about. Every time he walked past stores Alex didn't like or restaurants he hated going to, a voice in the back of his head heard Alex scoff, warning John not to go inside or else something would happen to him. What Alex could do to him from the bottom of his grave, John didn't know, but he spent too long learning what happened if he didn't listen.   
  
"You two are cute together," Eliza commented at lunch one day, scrolling through Alex's instagram, liking the pictures that he posts on days when Alex actually liked being around him.    
  
"Thanks," John bit out, picking at his shirt cuff. Alex hated this shirt, said it made him look hideous.    
  
"I wouldn't be caught dead with you in that shirt, you already embarrass me enough as is," Alex told him, not even bothering to look at him, just glancing at his reflection in the mirror.    
  
"I kind of like this shirt, actually," he mumbled.   
  
"I don't care? I'm not going anywhere with you dressed like that."   
  
She set her phone down on the table. "You've been dating for a while now right?"   
  
John jumped, torn from his thoughts. "Two years next week," he lied. He didn't know their anniversary date. He didn't know today's date.    
  
"That's great! How are things going?"   
  
"They're good. Alex is great, as always." His stomach churned uncomfortably knowing that everyone thought they were happy. John didn't have to do this, he could break down and tell her the truth about them. Alex doesn't talk to Eliza that much, and John could trust her to keep this secret, but what would happen if something happened? John couldn't handle that possibility.    
  
He left lunch early, he remembered that, and he went home to his empty apartment and locked the door so Alex wouldn't be able to get in.    
  
"I need a key to your house," Alex said, throwing the bent bobby pin he used to pick the lock on the ground.    
  
"Why didn't you just knock?"   
  
"You're never home. How was I supposed to know that there would be anyone to let me in?" He slammed the door closed behind him, threw his bag down on the ground.    
  
"You could've texted me, or called if I didn't answer." Alex rolled his eyes, sighed like John was the one at fault here.    
  
"I like it better when you don't speak," he fumed, walking off into the bathroom.    
  
John waited until he heard the sound of water running before he started crying. Why couldn't he just tell Eliza what was happening?   
  
John never told anyone what happened, and he didn't think he ever would. Everyone remembered Alexander as the force of nature he was, but they imagine him as a hurricane but not the house fire that took everything John had and burned it to the ground around him. For most people, Alex was a happy memory they mourned, for John he was the hell he strived to one day escape from.    
  
"I'm so sorry, John," Eliza comforted, resting her hand on his shoulder. John flinched at her touch, but smiled despite that, pretended to share in her grieving.    
  
Alex dying did not hurt John, but it put that feeling back in his chest. The feeling he had when he lied to Eliza. His stomach churned uncomfortably, words caught in his throat, itching feeling underneath his skin that makes him want to crawl out of it. He should've been upset, but Alexander never did anything to deserve John's sympathy, he never did anything to earn his sorrow.    
  
His funeral passed in a blur, the guilt of not mourning Alex being the only thing to keep him awake. Eliza sat next to him, held his hand through the entire service as she wept, and John still wanted to tell her why he wasn't crying like everyone else in the congregation.    
  
The longer John went without Alex, the less John heard his voice in the back of his head. John stopped listening for warnings, stopped flinching when someone touched him. He stopped being guilty, wore clothes Alex hated, went places he didn't like, redecorated his apartment, changed his locks on the front door. He stopped worrying whether Alexander would care or not, as long as he enjoyed doing it.    
  
He told Eliza, talked to her one night after he almost relapsed, decided going to her and finally getting it off of his chest was a better idea than going to a bar and trying to drown himself. He was proud of himself for that, it meant he was getting better, it meant he could finally get better.    
  
He could finally get better.

**Author's Note:**

> this is 100% projecting haha
> 
> also tag yourself I'm my one month hiatus


End file.
